A New 'Bran' of Love
by MissLP
Summary: Ashes to Ashes/Mad Dogs crossover. When Alex goes to visit her new psychologist, she gets a little...'flake'-y with her emotions. And, the consulting couch witnesses things it never expected. Rated T for the moment, but will definitely be M later...!


_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Ashes to Ashes, Mad Dogs, or any of the characters or cereal featured...**_

_Hello everyone! I am so, SO sorry about the lack of updates; my English coursework has really been grinding me down lately. I promise I will update Modern Love soon, and I have a few more fics in the works at the moment! However, here is a new fic for your enjoyment; I'm being adventurous and going into the 'crossovers' section, dun dun dun..._

_This is dedicated to my utterly perfect Tumblr followers. Ladies – I love you all very much. This is for you._

_MissLP x_

**A New 'Bran' of Love**

_09:06_.

She was late. Six minutes late, to be exact.

Quinn's eyes left the face of the clock, returning to his bowl of cereal. _Bran flakes. My favourite._

With a fragile grip, he picked up the spoon and delicately scooped a heap of the crunchy flakes into his mouth, a trickle of cool milk running down his throat with satisfaction. Savouring the taste, he leant back in his chair, closing his eyes as the monotonous _tick tock_ of the clock filled the silence between the delightful _crunches_ of the cereal between his teeth.

He sighed as his eyes flickered to the clock again. _09:11_. _Bloody women. That Spanish bird was bad enough._ Placing the spoon gently into the bowl, taking extra care not to break the fragile flakes, his eyes scanned his new office. After returning from his rather...'eventful' holiday, Quinn had decided that being a lecturer was 'simply not for me', and instead returned to his original profession as a psychologist.

_Fat lot of good when my first flaming 'patient' is late._

Gently pushing the bowl to the side, Quinn picked up the file leaning precariously on the top of a mass of books. He set it down on his desk and flipped open the cover. He quickly scanned over the messily scrawled details. Again, he sighed, feeling resigned as he longingly looked over at his cereal. _Should really look at this properly_.

He gathered strength as he pulled his gaze away from the glinting spoon and the alluring bowl, forcing his eyes to read the file again.

_Recovered from a coma induced by a gunshot wound to the frontal lobe. Frequently dreams of another world – claims to have been transported back to the 1980s. Mentions of constructs, particularly Gene Hunt, who was found, through research, to be a former police officer of the GMP who died in the 1950s. Insistent that this constructed world was real..._

He leant back in his chair again. It had been a long time since he had run a clinic with patients. Especially patients who had been shot in the head.

_09:18._

His thoughts were interrupted as voices echoed outside in reception. Straightening his tie, he sat up in his chair.

'Just through there, Ms Drake.'

_Here goes_.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Alex Drake frantically collected her scattered pieces of paper from her desk as she hastily scooped the last remnants of cereal – bran flakes with a generous helping of sugar – from her bowl. Dumping the files into her briefcase, she grabbed the bowl and placed the rim to her lips, pouring the sugary milk into her mouth and swallowing it with a satisfied '_mmm_'. She licked her lips and ran to the mirror, quickly and accurately applying the crimson lipstick to her mouth. She threw the little tube into her jacket pocket before raking her hands through her soft curls of hair.

Since recovering from her coma, Alex did all she could to desperately clutch onto anything that kept the memories of her life in the Eighties alive; so, after being discharged, the first thing she had done was go to the hairdresser and get her hair cut into her 1982 style. Even three years on, in 2011, she simply couldn't get rid of the soft curls and full fringe that she had grown to love. She smiled as she gazed at herself in the mirror, dismissing the glint of reminiscence that flashed in her eyes.

Her eyes left her reflection and focused on the kitchen clock.

_09:06._ She was late.

Satisfied that her full fringe would not separate into curtains, she grabbed her briefcase, hurried out of the house, and jumped into her car.

In her cautious manner, she weaved through the streets of London with ease; after driving with Gene in the Quattro so often in 1981 and 1982, many areas of London were recognisable even today.

_And you do you dream? Of him?_

She sighed as she pulled up to the Fenchurch Psychological Research Unit. After parking up, she sat in her car, trying to focus her mind on the task at hand. _Deep breaths. Clear the mind. Deep breaths. Clear the mind..._

Grabbing her briefcase from the passenger seat, she climbed out of the car, locking it before putting on an air of confidence as she strode purposefully into the building.

Luscious leather sofas lined the magnolia walls of the waiting room; the wooden beams supporting the structure of the building served to make the place look like a five-star ski lodge instead of a research unit. She continued through the hallway, taking note of the coffee shop opposite the waiting room as her heels clacked on the gleaming marble floor. She was met by a warm, reassuring smile from the receptionist, displayed extravagantly behind a pine desk.

'Hello, I'm Alex Drake, I'm here to-'

'Just through there, Ms Drake.'

Alex looked to where the woman was pointing; a large, oak door met her gaze. _Dr. Quinn Jones. _Nodding gratefully to the woman with a kind 'thank you', Alex headed towards the door.

_Here goes._

Gripping nervously onto her briefcase with one hand and the door handle with the other, she inhaled deeply before opening the door and walking into Dr. Jones' office.

Alex froze.

A man with gleaming blonde hair sat the desk, red and blue tie worn with precision and care within the ensemble of his grey suit. A customary pout was carved into his mouth, the curve of his lips straightening out before forming a captivating smile. The piercing, striking cobalt of his eyes shone brightly as his gaze met hers. He stood up, extending his hand out to her.

'Hello, Ms Drake.'

Alex blinked rapidly, disbelief churning inside her stomach.

'Gene?'

A smothering darkness overwhelmed her body as she collapsed onto the floor.

**To be continued...**

**Sorry it's short; I didn't want to keep you all without anything. But, believe me, I'm sure _many _things will get longer as the story progresses... ;)**


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